a new way to be beautiful

they tell me that ophelia has been overdone. that her dress is weighed down by years of pointless poetry asking what her flowers where for. explaining how the madness took hold. but my poetry does not speak of flowers and madness. my poetry speaks only of ophelia and asks her only: where were your gills ophelia?

i often dream of being the sort of girl that people do a double-take of. the sort of girl who people whisper about as soon as they have met her. the sort of girl that people say “beautiful” and “unique” when describing. i often dream about being something other than this. of being the person that you see in your head. but i am not her.

and instead i bury myself in arthouse films and pages of notes that i say i will turn into a novel someday but know that i will never get there. and i make so many plans that are big and beautiful but will never be fruitful. and i listen to music that gives me ideas and gives me goosebumps but i have not yet been struck by that big idea. that big idea that will make the world stop. that will make my fingers start typing at a speed i do not recognise.

and i realise that this is all really pointless. i realise that i am dried up. that i have nothing left inside of me. i wish i could describe life as beautiful, like i used to. but i cannot. this does not mean that life isn’t beautiful. oh it can be. it can be. days like yesterday where i sat in the sun and smoked cigarettes that i shouldn’t have been smoking. and nights like thursday when i sat in bed for three hours and just cried and cried and cried. there is beauty in the fact that i hold myself back from things i would have done in a heartbeat six months ago. there is beauty in the fact that i want to be a photographer but am too scared to take my camera everywhere i go because people will see me taking photos.

and there is beauty in the broken poetry that i write lately. the poetry that has no center. the poetry that really says nothing and jumps from thought to thought. the poetry that sometimes speaks of laughing out loud and the strangeness in being anything at all. poetry that speaks of fingers pushing through mouths just to reach the otherside of something. poetry that is pushing and pulling and thumping and clenching its fists so its knuckles turn white. the poetry that is squeezing its eyes shut and shaking its head as though it can block out the rest of the world. that is the poetry that i am writing. and it is not beautiful in itself. but sometimes it sounds beautiful to talk about.

the only thing i am looking forward to right now is the wedding. it is the 7th june 2007 and if any of you can make it to australia you are definately invited to come along.

it is almost the new year. and i am searching for ways to re-invent myself again. i am looking for a new haircut. a new haircolour. i am looking for new hobbies and new distractions. i am looking for a new way to cope. a new way to be different. a new way to be beautiful.

i’ll let you know if i find it.